


The Magic of Bilbo Baggins

by LightRain_09



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Consort Bilbo, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Fluff, King Thorin, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightRain_09/pseuds/LightRain_09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick one shot on the magic of Bilbo Baggins, and what it means to Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magic of Bilbo Baggins

**Author's Note:**

> A quick oneshot that popped into my head today. It's my first time posting a fiction to this or any fandom, but I do adore the BilboxThorin pairing. Especially after BotFA, curse and bless that movie. 
> 
> I have no beta so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Clearly the characters, names, and places do not belong to me.
> 
> Also, I royally suck at summaries, so if you got past that and are now actually reading this, kudos to you. Hope you enjoy!

       It was a well-known fact that hobbits were kindly folk who loved food and simple pleasures above almost all else. They were quiet, mild-mannered, polite. They never turned down a visitor, even an unexpected one, and they held home and growing things in the highest esteem.

       In lieu of all of this, it did not take long for the dwarves of Erebor to decide that Bilbo Baggins could sometimes be a very improper hobbit indeed. So improper, in fact, that it began to be rumored that he must have been at least one-twelfth dwarrow, and that if one traced his lineage back far enough, there would no doubt be a surly dwarf or two hanging from his family tree.

       Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, sat back in his throne and watched the reason for those rumors unfold before him. Bilbo, all three feet and six inches of him, stood facing down the heads of two of the most notorious factions in dwarven society. Notorious, because they didn’t get along well at all in their causes, and while dwarves as a whole had a reputation for being cantankerous, these particular dwarrow were often considered to be the worst of them all when they managed to get in each other’s way.

       “Explain to me again why you can’t simply share,” Bilbo said.

       The Weapons Master shot a miserly sneer at the Head Jeweler and both launched into their arguments at once, talking over one another, voices echoing with a great deal of dissonance around the audience chamber. The jewelers needed every ounce of this metal for this or that reason; the weapon smiths needed the tools that the jewelers continued to take. Not enough room at the functional forges, jewelry was hardly as important as the Mountain’s defenses, weapon smiths had not the finesse to understand the craftsmanship and vitality of the pieces forged by the jewelers, and so on and so forth.

       Their voices rose to a crescendo, flowing back and forth between the common tongue and Khuzdul with impressive rapidity, slinging insults now more than valid debates. Thorin pressed his fingertips into the stone arm of his throne to keep himself from surging to his feet and putting a stop to it. It would have been simple enough. One sharp word from him and they would quiet, he didn’t care if one of them had just brought the other’s mother into it. But he remained seated.

       He was still so used to leading alone. With Bilbo at his side he no longer had to settle every dispute, and that was taking some getting used to. He had to remember that his voice was not needed every time, and Bilbo would have to get used to dealing with matters such as this without his support. Sometimes he would not be here. Other times they would disagree and his Consort would have to stand his ground anyway. Not a hardship for the hobbit, he knew. Bilbo had never hesitated to oppose him when he thought it was necessary and for that alone Thorin would have loved him.

       No, letting him handle things on his own was good for both of them. It kept the balance in their relationships with each other and with the dwarrow of Erebor. It helped Thorin, in particular, remember that he was not alone anymore. That he had another with whom to share the burden of leadership, and that Bilbo’s voice was just as valid as his own.

       Besides, it deeply amused him to watch.

       Bilbo clapped his hands loudly and the dwarrow cut off abruptly. They glanced at their Consort with mouths still open, perhaps poised to continue despite him, perhaps surprised that their attention had so easily been commanded. Either way, Bilbo took it in stride. He placed one hand on his hip and lifted the other to press the tip of his middle finger against his forehead, a sign that he was both concentrating on finding a solution and refraining from completely abandoning his sense of decorum.

       “Alright, what about this,” he said. “We set up a schedule for the forges. Each faction has their turn and you’re not tripping over one another.”

       The Head Jeweler raised bushy, grey eyebrows as if he were surprised at the wisdom or the sheer simplicity of that plan. The Weapons Master scowled as though annoyed he hadn’t thought of it himself.

       “That… could work,” the Head Jeweler said. “But that still leaves the problem with the metal and the tools.”

       Thorin lifted one hand to cover his mouth and grinned, pride and affection swelling in him in equal amounts. The magic behind Bilbo Baggins wasn’t a foul temper or a manic propensity for violence that would have sent even the bravest warrior scurrying for cover. The power of his Consort did not come because Bilbo shouted. It came because he _didn’t_. Even when faced with a room full of arguing miners and disgruntled archivists, proud architects and agitated soldiers, Bilbo rarely shouted. Instead, he used a firm but reasonable tone which brooked no argument, and had the uncanny ability to state things in such a way that disagreeing with him made you not only look foolish, but feel it as well. He was polite, cordial, rarely swore, and showed an enviable mastery over his own temper. And the dwarrow of Erebor, understandably more accustomed to raised voices, easily flared tempers, and (usually) nonlethal acts of aggression, had no idea how to handle him. Bilbo settled disputes, soothed offended sensibilities, and aided in the relatively smooth running of Erebor simply by being who he was.

       And it was this, strangely enough, that had given rise to the rumors of dwarrow blood somewhere in his family line. Not because his behavior was particularly dwarfish, but because those who had never faced him before came with the mistaken and absurd belief that he would be easily cowed. They assumed that their hobbit Consort wouldn’t have the fortitude to withstand their best attempts at either intimidation or manipulation, and were invariably disappointed when things didn’t go as they had planned. And so, because he didn’t fit their ideal of a hobbit, and because he had some power over them that they didn’t fully understand, the logical conclusion, in their minds, was that Bilbo Baggins was not a full hobbit.

       “If you’re not working the forges at the same time, the tools shouldn’t be an issue,” Bilbo pointed out. “Now, about the metal…”

       At that, the arguments started anew, this time focused entirely on the raw metal supplies. Thorin leaned his head back and tried to ward off the beginnings of a headache. He looked to the door of the chamber where Ori stood, narrow pen scrawling hastily over the parchment he had spread across his small desk, recording the exchange as accurately as possible. The young scholar glanced up and Thorin caught his eye and gave him a small, discreet gesture. Ori nodded and stood immediately, leaving his parchment but taking his pen- out of habit, he guessed- and as silently as possible, he exited the chamber. There were two more appointments to be seen after these two but they would have to come back tomorrow. He didn’t feel that either he or Bilbo would have the energy to play mediator to another disagreement that night.

       Bilbo lifted one finger into the air and the two dwarrow fell silent once more. The Weapons Master’s scowl deepened and he peered up at Bilbo, suspicious and frustrated and quite clearly annoyed. Thorin nearly laughed. Oh, yes. Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit to be reckoned with. It was high time the rest of Erebor learned what he had discovered for himself some time ago.

       “I want written proposals,” Bilbo said.

       The two dwarrow stared at him blankly.

       “Written proposals…” The Weapons Master repeated. His mouth formed the words as if they were foreign, twisting around them with the unfamiliarity he might have had the words been spoken in Sindarin.

       “Yes,” Bilbo said with a firm nod. “Yes. Written proposals from both factions. They should state your reasons for needing the metals and offer solutions that will satisfy both sides. At which point we will reconvene and find an agreeable settlement. Until then you will split the supplies evenly.”

       “But we need…” The Head Jeweler said at the same time as the Weapons Master spluttered, “You can’t possibly mean to…”

       “You _don’t_ need them immediately, and yes I certainly do mean to,” Bilbo said. “Now, I am new here, I understand that. But I also know that you have all made do with much less than you have now. Dividing the metals evenly for a few more days will not bring the Mountain down upon our heads and it should be no great hardship for you. We will sort this out but I need some semblance of organization, please. Now, off you go. Good evening.”

       And with that the audience was concluded. Neither faction head looked especially pleased but they didn’t look quite angry either. Mostly, they just looked baffled. Baffled and maybe a little worried.

       They left together and the door closed behind them, leaving the King and the Consort blessedly, uncommonly alone. Thorin let out a low laugh and Bilbo’s stance deflated a little, releasing the tension that court life seemed to instill in all who had any part in it. He tilted his head back and let out a long, exaggerated breath and shook his hands out at his sides.

       “Come here, _ghivashel_.”

       Bilbo turned to look at him, his brow still slightly furrowed. He scrunched up his face and moved to drop dramatically into Thorin’s lap. His head rolled to rest on Thorin’s shoulder and he blew out a sharp huff against his shirt.

       “I thought the most trying thing about marrying you would be… well, _you_ ,” Bilbo said.

       Thorin chuckled and ran his fingers through the soft, bronze curls of Bilbo’s hair. He had let it grow out enough to accommodate the traditional dwarven braids but he still kept it much shorter than any dwarrow would have. He hadn’t completely abandoned his hobbit customs and Thorin would never ask him to. Anyway, he rather liked it the way it was.

       “You are a very skilled consort,” he said.

       “You’re the only one who feels that way, I fear,” Bilbo said morosely. “Your dwarrow often look like they want to throttle me.”

       Thorin smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “That is a compliment.”

       Bilbo craned his neck to wrinkle his nose at him and Thorin laughed again.

       “You surprise them. You are stronger and bolder than they assume you would be.”

       Bilbo frowned but he tucked his head back against Thorin’s shoulder and squirmed a little to get comfortable. “I’m not sure how being underestimated is a compliment, but alright.”

       “You prove them wrong. They respect you for that, _ghivashel_. Soon they will love you for it.”

       Bilbo hummed in response though he didn't sound entirely convinced. And that was alright. He had always had a little trouble seeing his own worth but he would see it one day. Thorin would make certain of that.

       He traced his fingers along the braid that started at Bilbo’s temple and ended just behind the gentle point of his ear. The small bead that held it in place was so familiar to his fingers that he could have crafted its twin with his eyes closed.

       “Dis loves you,” he offered.

       Bilbo snuggled closer to him, nuzzling his nose into Thorin’s neck. “And thank goodness for that, as I am rather fond of her.”

       “And that was a relief, I will admit,” Thorin said. “Mahal himself could not help me if you two didn’t get along.”

       Bilbo’s finger wandered over Thorin’s chest and a playful note entered his voice. “You’re not worried we will conspire against you?”

       “The lesser of two evils, _ghivashel_ ,” he said. “I would rather have you conspiring against me than one another.”

       Bilbo chuckled and they fell into a comfortable and familiar silence. Everything had come upon them so quickly after the battle outside their door. The initial recovery period from that alone had been sheer chaos, but at some point Erebor had begun to make the transition from a hospital and safe haven for refugees to a real home and kingdom again. And that was a different type of chaos altogether. These moments of quiet solitude that didn’t immediately precede passing out in bed were few and far between.

       Bilbo shook himself and sat up. He stretched his arms over his head and smiled wryly at him, rolling his shoulders. “I have a few things I need to see to before the day is out. I’ll see you at home?”

       Thorin pursed his lips and settled his hand on Bilbo’s waist, using just enough pressure that Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at him.

       “I think,” Thorin said, “that the Consort should be done for the day.”

       He plucked the silver coronet from Bilbo’s curls and gingerly set it aside. It was a small, elegant thing he had crafted himself, beautiful in its simplicity but strong. Like the one who wore it. He smoothed his hand over his husband’s hair, and then trailed his touch down to the back of his neck to massage at the knots of tension he knew were there.

       Bilbo looked like he might argue. He was very dutiful, his Consort, and very much in possession of the hobbitish belief that what work could be done today ought not be left until tomorrow. So Thorin slid his other hand down to Bilbo’s thigh and gave a meaningful but gentle squeeze by way of encouragement.

       Bilbo rolled his eyes but he couldn’t quite stave off the grin that came. He reached up and carefully lifted the crown from Thorin’s head, and the Consort and the King retreated for the night. In their absence sat the dwarf and the hobbit, the leader of a mismatched and bedraggled company and the burglar who had made all the difference. Bilbo tugged gently on a strand of Thorin’s hair and leaned forward to press a warm and welcome kiss to his mouth.

       “Fair enough,” Bilbo murmured as he skimmed his lips over Thorin’s cheek and jaw. “But that still leaves one thing I’d like to see to tonight.”

       Thorin smiled and ran his hands along Bilbo’s back, squeezing to bring him closer.

       “Only one?” he asked.

       “Well, it might take special attention,” Bilbo said, trailing kisses up over the bridge of Thorin’s nose. “Special, _extensive_ attention.” He punctuated every word with another soft press of lips to skin and the familiar heat washed through Thorin, desire mixed with a fierce love that nearly drove every pain out of his body and soul.

       “If you do not stop that, you will be paying those attentions here and now,” he said hoarsely.

       Bilbo laughed. He pressed another quick kiss to Thorin’s mouth, this one full of promise, and then he unfolded himself from his lap and held out a waiting hand. Thorin reached up and took hold but he didn’t move right away. Instead, he tilted his head back and studied the hobbit.

       The magic of Bilbo Baggins was something he felt he might never fully understand. To the dwarrow of Erebor it came in the form of kind but firm leadership: a gentle voice of reason and guidance; a love of harmony; and a vision and heart free from greed or hatred or any other tainting influence. For the company, it had manifested as a keen mind and an open, willing heart. For Thorin… Well, for him, Bilbo’s magic was all that and more.

       It was the tender pressure of lips against his. It was the touch of knowing and teasing hands on his body. It was the way Bilbo became a catalyst for life itself when he was near, the way he seemed to instill energy into the very air and draw light from where it would not normally venture. The magic of Bilbo Baggins, to Thorin, was the soft press of forgiveness around his scarred heart, and the unwavering warmth of a love that healed him more with every second he spent with him. No salve, herb, poultice, or elf’s touch would come anywhere near the wounds that Bilbo had begun to mend, and all of it simply because Bilbo was who he was.

       Bilbo tilted his head and gave his hand a little tug. “Are you just going to sit there, you great lump? Or are you going to come with me?”

       Thorin squeezed his fingers gently and rose to his feet. His husband turned away but Thorin pulled on him gently and brought him back. He cupped Bilbo’s jaw in his hand, tilted his head back, and leaned down to kiss him deeply. Bilbo parted his lips and wound his arms around Thorin’s neck and all of that magic flared inside of him like a forge’s flame.

       When he pulled away he didn’t move far. He rested his forehead against the hobbit’s and eased his fingers through those soft curls.

       “Where you go, there I shall be,” he murmured, repeating the words he had spoken on their wedding day.

       Bilbo’s bright eyes opened to regard him and his hand stroked through Thorin’s beard, clean, short fingernails scraping lightly over his cheek.

       “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

       He gave him a very small nod and Bilbo smiled as if he understood everything Thorin could never give a voice to. And maybe he did. After all, that, too, was the magic of Bilbo Baggins.


End file.
